


Paper-cuts may heal, but ever so slowly love

by InsanelyYours96



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Claudia Stilinski Feels, M/M, Origami, Secret Santa, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanelyYours96/pseuds/InsanelyYours96
Summary: Sometimes grieving takes thirteen years, but good friends and cute coasters help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aminias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aminias/gifts).



Stiles was four years old the first time he made a paper crane.

He remembers gentle fingers guiding his own and how using a pencil to press creases into bright blue paper worked better than fingers. Most of all Stiles remembers the sweet smell of his mother’s perfume and the bright sound of her laughter when he presented his very first origami. She cradled it like it was something precious and kissed his forehead before moving to place it on the mantle of Stiles’ childhood home, where it sat to this day, faded and dusty.

Origami became Stiles’ favorite mother-son activity, because it meant long afternoons sitting on Claudia's lap, letting her hands guide his and turning plain pieces of paper into something unique.

Soon the house was cluttered with his creations: a handful of Sheriff badges, a giraffe, butterflies, flowers, and dozens of colorful cranes.

Folding paper kept his fidgeting hands busy and his mom close to him. It was bright, fun, and challenging. Plus it was always satisfying to see Claudia beam with pride when he folded something without any help.

When his mom got sick it was something they could do even stuck inside a hospital room, Claudia telling him how to fold and Stiles following her instructions. Trembling hands no longer guided his own, but her voice was soft and fond as she instructed him.

But sometimes his mom was no longer his mom, and it was then that Stiles hid out at the nurses station, determinedly folding cranes.

In the end he made one thousand.

A part of him thought it was stupid and knew nothing would happen, but—

A thousand cranes to make a wish. A thousand cranes to make his mom his mom again, to make her still love him, to make her _live_.

A week after Stiles filled her hospital room with one thousand paper cranes, Claudia Stilinski died.

Stiles threw away every piece of craft paper in the house and never looked back.

* * *

Stiles didn't touch bright, patterned sheets of paper for thirteen years.

Then college hit, and he was stressed, and there were squares of craft paper lying around because Scott was trying (and failing) to make a scrapbook for Allison. The sheets were too thick and the corners of the ninja star Stiles made turned out bulky, but attempt number two was perfect.

Stiles eventually fell asleep hours earlier than he normally would, surrounded by tiny paper creations.

Scott was irritated when he shook him awake, but Stiles was too caught up in his dream to listen to his best friends complaints. Sleep had been full of sweet perfume, gentle touches, and so much love it made Stiles’ chest feel as though it might burst.

After that origami became a stress relief. The movements were meditative and soothing, and the exercise seemed somehow cathartic, reminiscent of a better (if not easier) time. Stiles no longer dreaded nightmares of his mother, but welcomed dreams and memories.

It took thirteen years, but it seemed like he was finally healing.

* * *

The thing is that when Stiles got into something, he _really_ got into it, which meant piles and piles of tiny, folded creatures that there was no room for in his and Scott’s cramped apartment. So Stiles just started leaving his creations everywhere: in lecture halls, in his friends dorms, on top of library shelves.

Nobody really seemed to mind, and people in his FOLKMYTH 90H course made a competition out of who could find the coolest critter. Of course, once they started calling them ‘critters’ Stiles began hiding over-sized bugs everywhere.

Once, Greenberg spotted a rather realistic cockroach and screamed in the middle of a lecture.

It was pretty awesome, even if the Professor did give Stiles a bit of a dressing down and ordered him not to leave any more insects in his class.

When Stiles started leaving supernatural Slavic beings around instead, the same Professor actually gave Stiles fifty bucks to make him a set of his favorite mythological creatures. After that, it sort of became a thing.

Instead of just folding whatever, Stiles had requests and commissions coming in like crazy. Since not all college students were rich, a lot of payments came in the form of unused gift cards for Amazon, coffee joints, or the campus bookstore.

That’s what led Stiles to _Peter’s_.

When he google-mapped it the directions indicated the coffee shop was only about a fourteen minute walk from campus, so Stiles shrugged, armed with a twenty dollar gift certificate and a lusting for caffeine, and walked.

If the coffee sucked he could always see if they had pastries, or just give it to Isaac, who seemed to relish putting gross shit in his body.

* * *

Stiles sat at a sleek black table, cradling his hot drink close, all of his focus on a coaster that had a cat in a mug on it and read "CATPURRCINO" across the top.

What the heck.

Stiles would have been coming here for years if he had known they had coasters with puns at every table.

Also, he _really_ wanted to make that. It was stupidly cute.

He should probably work on one of his commissions instead, but…

No. He had to make it.

Then Stiles tried his first drink of hot-but-not-scalding coffee, and holy shit _no_. This was the kind of coffee that the fucking Gods drunk! This—

This was perfection in a cup.

...Alright, maybe v-neck had a reason for looking so smug when he handed Stiles his drink after all. And that reason was that he had created an orgasm in a cup.

(Also he had caught Stiles ogling his collar bones, but who could blame him? The guy was practically indecent!)

So Stiles ended up groaning obscenely. He closed his eyes to savor the perfect mix of coffee, chocolate, and caramel, letting it linger in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He lowered the mug regretfully, setting it on the most awesome coaster in existence and pulling a few sheets of paper from his school bag.

Okay. Time to make an orange cat in a tiny cup.

* * *

It became a routine after that. Stiles stuck his creations around the college, made painstakingly difficult (or stupidly cute) commissions without a pattern, and went to _Peter’s_ a couple of times a week.

Every time he sat at a different table, with a different coaster, and left a different creature hidden in some nook of the coffee shop.

Every time he ogled at the annoyingly attractive, snarky barista who more or less preened under the attention and somehow learned Stiles’ name without him ever giving it. Heck, Stiles didn’t even know the guy’s name because he didn’t bother with a name-tag like all the other employees.

Still, v-neck made the best cup of coffee out of all of them, and every time he bullied Stiles into trying something new it was always as phenomenal as his very first drink.

Overall, the routine was good—until Lydia decided to tag along.

* * *

“He wants you to remake it?” Lydia sneered. “Does he know how long you spent on that monstrosity? No. I’m instating a no take backs rule. If Jackson sets a precedent with this, you’ll never get your schoolwork done.”

“Well, it’s not like I wasn’t expecting it when the jackass commissioned me in the first place.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Still, he gave me seventy bucks for it. If he’s not happy, I should at least do some modifications or—”

“He _is_ happy with it,” Lydia shot back. “He just wants to trick you into giving him the money back. Not because he can’t afford it, but because it’s you. You know how jealous he’s always been of us since we broke up.”

“Oh my God, you would think he, of all people, would understand that I’m gay. Like, Danny is his bro for life. Why did he even follow us out here?”

“You know that his dad— _Peter Hale?_ "

Stiles blinked in confusion at Lydia, only to notice that they had reached the front of the line and v-neck was waiting for them to order. Also, judging by his grimace, he clearly recognized Lydia, just as she had recognized him and _wait_ —

“Peter as in _Peter’s_? As in, you own this place _and named it after yourself?_ ”

“Stiles, I’m hurt. You’ve been coming here for months and you don’t know my name?”

Stiles blinked, a little taken aback, because as droll and sarcastic as that had been, Peter did actually look a bit offended.

“Uh—you don’t wear a name-tag, dude, and our conversations are basically just you bullying me into trying one of your experiments. I mean, you’ve never introduced yourself. How am I supposed to know your name?”

Peter sniffed, completely ignoring Lydia. “Yes, well, I figured out your name, didn’t I?”

“Yeaaaah.” Because you’re a creep, Stiles didn’t say.

“What have you been calling me all this time?”

“Calling you? Dude, it’s not like I talk to people about you. I mean, okay, I have mentioned the orgasmic coffee—”

“And your indecent v-necks, which I suppose was a good enough clue,” Lydia took over, tone biting. “Seriously, Stiles, _Peter Hale_? Let’s just go somewhere else—”

“Woah, what’s wrong with here? Lydia, I _need_ his coffee. I’ve got Finals to study for.”

“Yes, well, this isn’t about coffee, this is about loyalty.”

“Loyal—Lydia, what the fuck did he do to you?”

Sure, Peter was a creep, but he didn’t actually seem dangerous. Still, if he’d laid a hand on Lydia…

“Not me, you idiot, Laura. Don’t you remember—”

“Wait, wait. Seriously? I fucking hate Laura. You know I hate Laura. Why would I care about what v-neck here did to her?”

“Well I’m loyal to her, and you’re loyal to me, yes?” Okay, Lydia, wait to be condescending.

“...Lydia, I’m not a pet. Either tell v—Peter your order, sit down with me, and have a cup of the most delicious coffee _ever_ , or fuck off.”

“I’d go with option two." Peter chimed in. Lydia went from almost guilty to murderous in 0.5 seconds.

“We’ll talk about this later, Stilinski,” she eventually hissed, after glaring at the barista got her nothing but an unimpressed glower, and turned on her heel. She sashayed out of the cafe, kitten heels clicking, head held high.

Stiles stared after her, somewhat dumbstruck that she’d actually chosen to leave. Lydia knew Stiles and Laura got on like oil and water, which made being best friends with the both of them rather challenging, but she had always been careful to never pick one over the other. She wasn’t usually one to point fingers and write people off, either, which meant Peter had probably done something pretty shitty.

But, well, that wasn’t any of Stiles’ business. Peter hadn’t done anything to him, except make him try some excellent coffee and be a sarcastic asshole.

Stiles shrugged it off, turning to stare at Peter, who was watching him borderline warily. “So, uh, how about a mocha latte?”

Peter blinked, looking—momentarily—dumbstruck. Stiles sort of wished he had a camera, but then there was a smirk tugging at Peter’s lips and the moment was lost.

“Of course, Stiles,” he purred, turning to make the beverage. Stiles watched him putter around, eyes dragging along the shifting of back muscles under a thin cotton henley, and the way large hands twisted the cup as hot coffee poured in.

What?

Eye candy.

One of the many reasons Stiles couldn’t resist coming back.

* * *

After Lydia, every time Stiles came in Peter would find the time to spend at least five minutes at his table. He watched as Stiles deftly folded a sparkly silver wolf into being, blue eyes thoughtful.

Peter never mentioned the little gifts he left lying around, though Stiles had noticed one of his better pieces—a fox with a coffee cup in its curled tail—had migrated into the pastry display, beside a sign listing prices. He was somewhat flattered when he heard two old ladies fawning over it one day, asking Peter if it was on sell only to be turned away. He knew his origami was good, of course. He had a huge customer base, and a lot of the funds that didn’t go into feeding himself and Scott went to expensive coffee at _Peter’s._

Still, most of Stiles’ clients were college kids, easily won over by anything cute and kitschy. It was nice to be appreciated by a wider range of people, even if it was just for a hobby he had taken up as a kid.

Though the true highlight came when he heard a little boy shout, “Look, mom, a fox!”

When the mother laughed and told her son it was a fox made entirely of paper, the kid went quiet and wide-eyed. Then, after a long pause, with Stiles as rapturous audience, he whispered, “ _Really_? I want to learn how to do that…”

The mother looked slightly surprised, but supportive enough. “Well, I know how to make cranes, dear. I’m sure we can figure the rest out as we go, if you really want to learn.”

Stiles had to look away, heat prickling at his eyes.

The thought that he had just made origami into a mother-son activity for another family had him clutching at his chest. The warmth spreading through him was achingly similar to what he had felt after that first dream. His heart was well on its way to bursting from his chest, so full of love and bittersweet remembrance.

For once, he didn’t notice Peter’s intent blue eyes tracking him as he scrubbed his eyes hastily and turned back to his assigned reading.

That day he left a single paper crane on the table, dainty and purple, the first one he had crafted since his mother died.

* * *

That evening the nightmares came back, but it was okay because Scott roused him at two in the morning, led him to the couch, and put on a Christmas movie. Then he went to the kitchen and came back ten minutes later with two soup cups full of hot chocolate.

They curled together under a pile of blankets, nursing too-big cups of happiness and watching the Grinch steal Christmas. After a while Stiles got antsy, and the moment he started fidgeting Scott replaced the hot chocolate with paper.

His best friend remained silent and supportive by him for hours while Stiles folded and folded and folded.

They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs on the couch and both missed their first class of the morning.

* * *

“So,” Peter said, settling into the seat across from him. “When do you finish your undergrad?”

Normally they kept things pretty impersonal. Stiles talked about what he was reading, Peter bitched about rude customers, and they bantered until Peter had to get back to work.

“What?” Stiles blinked, still trying to wrap his mind around the Latin symbols swimming in front of him. “Oh!”

He hadn’t even noticed Peter sitting down, honestly. How long had he been there?

Glancing at the hedgehog coaster, he noticed a steaming cup sitting on it.

Huh. He must look like shit if Peter was sneaking him free coffee. Or maybe not sneaking, since he did own the joint.

Whatever.

“I’ve actually been there, done that,” Stiles shrugged. “I’m working on my Folklore and Mythology PhD.”

Peter’s brow creased. “Ah. I’d just assumed. How old are you, Stiles?”

“Twenty-three. I took a year off after high school, then did a fast track program to graduate in two years. I’ve been working on my PhD since last June.”

Peter looked vaguely impressed. “I’m surprised you find time for origami, between your dissertation and learning dead languages.”

“Learning dead languages is basically required if I want to excel,” Stiles shrugged. “Besides, origami’s what helps me focus enough to do all this shit.”

“Hm. Your schedule is fairly busy, then.”

It didn’t sound like much of a question, but Stiles nodded anyway, frowning as he tried to decipher a sigil that didn’t look even remotely familiar.

“Yours too, I bet, Mr. I-Name-My-Business-After-Myself.”

Peter snorted.

“This isn’t Harry Potter, Stiles, no need for all the hyphens.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles grumbled, only slightly burning his tongue when he took a gulp of his—

He moaned, eyes fluttering shut, mind finally giving up on the Latin. Stiles relaxed back into his chair, letting the paper his fingers had been fiddling with fall to his lap.

“Holy shit, what is that?” Stiles demanded, already taking another sip, because chocolate-cinnamon-coffee _goodness_!

Peter hummed, and when Stiles looked up he was actually smiling instead of smirking, for once, and _what_.

Stiles didn’t know how to process that, because while Peter looked kind of sexy-evil when he smirked, he just looked _gorgeous-soft-charming_ when he smiled. His eyes crinkled.

Crows feet should not be a turn on, Stiles, he told himself firmly. Except it really, really was.

Happiness suited Peter Hale’s face _really fucking well_. Hot damn.

“Just another of my ‘experiments,’” Peter said. “Basically, mexican hot chocolate with coffee and caramel. I’ll go out on a limb and say you like it.”

“I _love_ it,” Stiles corrected, thumbing the rim of his mug absently, savoring the spice as it lingered on his tongue. “I would take it to Vegas and marry it, except I may have already finished it by the time we arrived and the priest might look at me funny for trying to wed a cup.”

Peter snorted. “Well, if you’re free enough to contemplate a road trip...”

“Hm?”

Peter pulled a flower out of nowhere, except it wasn’t an _actual_ flower. It was a flower made out of purple and pink and green paper, folded meticulously, and _what_.

“I’m not working Saturday night, and you could do with a research break. I have a table for two reserved at _Aleria_. Join me?”

Stiles blinked at the origami, accepting it with careful hands. Up close he could see the slight finger indents on the petals and how awkward the transition from pink to purple was. Yet in spite of being the work of an amateur, the effort that went into it was obvious to Stiles, who had tried to teach his friends enough times to recognize a first attempt versus a thirtieth. Maybe Peter just had some crazy, natural paper folding talent.

Or maybe he had spent hours making this flower.

Stiles felt as though he had just been slapped stupid, but at the same time his cheeks were starting to hurt, and after another moment of staring he realized that was because he was grinning.

When he finally lifted his gaze from the flower to meet Peter’s eyes, Stiles’ cheeks ached and his face felt hot. His heart was pounding too-quick and his chest was starting to feel full again, sort of like with the dreams, sort of like with that mother and her son, but different, too.

“I—yeah, we should definitely do that.”

“It’s a date.”

Stiles’ grin softened into something sweeter, and he moved the flower to his lips, kissing the sharp paper edges. Confident as Peter looked, there was also a pink tinge to his cheeks.

Peter Hale was blushing, and it was just as adorable as the damn coasters.

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this was fun. Honestly I start and stop so many TW plot lines it's hard to keep track, but it was already the 20th when I woke up so scrapping the lot and writing this in one day instead seemed like the only way I would ever get anything done. 
> 
> Also, Lydia is one of my favorite characters, but she can be a bitch sometimes and that scene literally wrote itself. I tried to take it back, but Lydia threatened me with her kitten heels. I got nervous.
> 
> I hope this brought everyone a little bit of joy, especially you, Aminias. Happy Christmas!


End file.
